


to see the moments bleed through

by dhils



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Magical Realism, Time Travel, curbing the space time continuum: the jake debrusk story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-09-24 07:36:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17096534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dhils/pseuds/dhils
Summary: It shouldn’t be like this, Jake decides.And he’ll rewind, and rewind, and rewind.





	to see the moments bleed through

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cjmasim](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cjmasim/gifts).



> woooo happy holidays babeyyy!! 
> 
> dear cjmasim: i hope u like this lil thing frm me to u!!! i had way too much fun writing this up and it was such a pleasure to do for u, much luv! :)

It doesn’t start when he’s a kid, underdeveloped and still unsure of the ways the world works. Jake isn’t anywhere near that stage of his life, although maybe he’d take it better if he was. If he was a child with a haywire imagination, dreaming up magic and superpowers and ecstatically accepting them as a part of human life.

But, in this case, Jake is 16, pencilling in answers to overdue homework he’s yet to deal with. He’s falling asleep, his eyes fluttering and the room going hazy, and it all happens in an instant he barely processes. He hears a bang.

Jake doesn’t see it happen, but he glances up quick enough to see it end. The bird that hits his window falling with what Jake assumes is a more than painful thump. It takes all of two seconds for him to spring off his bed and rush towards the window, trying to peek out far enough to see the underside of it. He presses a hand to the cool surface, as if he could somehow reach the bird. It’s a goldfinch, limp and lifeless.

Jack blinks. One, twice, and—that’s it.

He isn’t even sure how it happens, how he ends up back in his bed, textbook resting on his thigh, and his head spinning too fast for him to connect any of the dots. He looks down at his notebook and realizes he’s missing the last question he filled out, the one he clearly remembers writing out and fussing over forever.

Jake flips back and forth through the pages, trying to wrap his mind around where the answers could’ve possible gone when his thoughts dart right back to the window. The window and the bird, and _holy fuck_.

He’s just as quick to get to the window this time, maybe quicker because he nearly trips, and settles right up against it, searching for shed black and gold feathers. Which aren’t anywhere to be found. 

Jack doesn’t even think about or question any of it before fumbling to get his window open, pushing it up and stepping away. He doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until his lungs start to scream against the inside of his chest, and even then he wavers to let one go. 

If a bird flies in now, this’ll be the creepiest thing that he’s experienced to date.

And hey, maybe that’s just what it was meant to be because with a little gust of air and rapid flapping of its wings, the goldfinch flies right through his window, immediately settling on his bed sheets. Jake watches it carefully, afraid of scaring it off, and the bird cocks it’s head at him but it doesn’t fly. Not until it hops around a little and sits right on Jake’s shoulder, picking at the fabric of his shirt collar. 

He swallows, wondering if he’s pushing it when he reaches for the goldfinch as if to beckon it to land on his finger. It does, surprisingly enough, and that gets a smile out of Jake. He’s never been this close to a bird without it immediately taking off in the opposite direction.

“Let’s get you home, yeah?” He says, like it can understand him at all, and leads them back towards the window. He’s gentle when he goes about reaching outside his room, to give it lots of space to fly free. It takes a moment, but after one last look, the goldfinch takes off. 

Jake watches it soar through the sky, cutting a little sigh and shutting his window before he lets in a wasp or something.

Shit like this just doesn’t happen on the regular for him. For anyone, perhaps. He isn’t even sure what _shit like this_ is. He stares at his window for a moment, a little harder than he intends to maybe, and falls back on his bed. 

Okay, so this is happening. He’s going to freak out about déjà vu of all things. That’s fine. That’s whatever.

 

 

Except. It’s not. Jake has memories of doing things twice, fucking up the first time and letting himself fix it the second. It gets to the point where it happens on a daily basis, and it makes his head pound, or has the ground shiver a little underneath his feet. 

He’ll get looks from people while they ask him if everything’s alright, and Jake isn’t sure how to say _I just bumped into that car in front of me trying to parallel park, how did you miss that_ or _what do you mean, I dropped a mug right by your feet_. Because, he doesn’t do those things the second time around. It’s like an undo button that he can’t quite control, or well, he _can_ control it in the sense it sparks up whenever he ruins something. 

He just isn’t sure how it works. Because it’s not normal. It’s not visions or dreams, since Jake remembers doing everything physically. Not only that, but he remembers that bout of panic that hits him before everything settles back into place, reversing before his eyes. And it just. Does that. 

Jake doesn’t even _try_ to trigger it, afraid of getting locked in time or breaking the fucking universe as he knows it. He does watch a lot of Doctor Who, though, and then decides against it 3 episodes in because it’s not like he’s travelling to renaissance Italy or something. He just wants to know how to control this, how to grab it and push it towards something like a fix-it at his fingertips. 

 

 

The next time it happens, it’s all him. 

Jake walks into his house with tired eyes and drooping shoulders. He’s in the mood for a twenty hour nap because his legs ache and if he has to walk one more step he might just die.

Though, here’s an alternative way he could die: when his mom rounds the corner with a gleeful smile and he realizes it’s her birthday. He has the audacity to walk in with nothing but a gross duffle bag of hockey equipment and nothing else. Frankly, if he wants to survive the day without sickening guilt, he needs a present.

Jake’s mind starts running a mile a minute, trying to think up an excuse to fix this, and his thoughts go right back to when he passed that little flower shop on the way home. That was, what, six minutes ago, maybe less. He mentally kicks himself for not stopping there, and. That’s just it. The world rewards him with a second chance, lets him fix his mistakes once again, and he’s right back.

Jake’s head is fucking pulsing, and the colours of the stop light he’s at blend together enough that he has to take a moment before he can blink his gaze back into focus. It’s mostly the livid honking coming from behind him that gets him driving.

It takes him just as long to realize that he’s the one that did that, it wasn’t some instinct that shifted the timeline, it was _him_. Controlling where he went, just how far back, and wow, that’s a lot to process. 

He doesn’t realize his nose is bleeding until he stops in front of the shop.

 

 

So, here’s the thing. Jake hasn’t been blessed with all-powerful superpowers. That was never really the case. He’s not even sure if what he has can be classified as a superpower at all, the whole hitting rewind to end up at just a few minutes prior thing. 

Jake’s different. He’s different in a way he isn’t sure he can tell other people, and that’s just how it is. But this distinct thing that _makes_ him different is dangerous. This power, whatever it is—fucking time travel—is like a shotgun with kickback. It’s dangerous. 

He realizes this when he tries to reverse a hockey game back to the beginning, because they’re looking bad, really fucking bad. It’s just over 15 minutes from the start of the first, and Jake puts every ounce of his energy into trying to send them back. He gets to count the red digits on the clock flip in reverse as he does it, watching and waiting.

It’s just unfortunate that he doesn’t make it far before he loses the feeling in his fingertips and nearly collapses into the guy sitting next to him on the bench. 

“Jake, hey, _woah_ ,” he says, grabbing his shoulder and trying to steady him. “You feeling okay, buddy?” 

The edges of his vision blend into darkness and everything fades enough that he can barely make out his teammate’s face, let alone the worry in his voice. “Fine—I’m fine,” he manages, but it feels strangled coming out. 

He immediately gets handed a water bottle, and then some gatorade because _dude, you look like a fucking zombie_. 

It takes him a minute to get into the right headspace, and when he looks up at the clock they’re seven minutes into the first period. “Fuck,” he mutters breathlessly, and leans his head against the divider. 

His powers don’t make him better at hockey, they don’t aid the team as much as he thought they would. He ends up with another bloody nose and enough exhaustion that he has to miss a shift, and that doesn’t help anyone. 

It’s probably for the best, because Jake isn’t the type to cheat when it comes to sports. Even though, hey, this might just be cheating in every other regard. Because if he has his powers right there, readily available for him to use to get things going his way, he uses them for just about anything else. 

But hockey doesn’t work for him that way, and it’s the only thing that really makes him feel grounded. 

It helps him realize that there’s a time limit to how far back he can go. So, yeah, not all-powerful. Using it a certain amount of times can get pretty fucking dangerous, too. Jake realizes that one when he tries to reverse time over and over in favour of going after the puck while he’s taking practice shots.

The migraine that comes after isn’t worth it.

 

 

Jake doesn’t know where he wants to get drafted to, but there’s still a bubble of excitement in his stomach when he hears whispers of going late in the first—around the twenties. And that’s enough, Jake just wants to make it. He wants _this_.

He isn’t sure what exactly that means until Don Sweeney gets up on the stage against a backdrop of black and gold, the Bruins logo dotting just about everything. He jokes about the boo he gets with a little smile, and Jake would probably laugh if his heart wasn’t crushing itself against his ribs. 

Then he’s speaking into the microphone with a stern look tightening his features, and all Jake can process is, “From the Swift Current Broncos, Jake Debrusk.” 

Jake thinks he might need five minutes to calm his nerves otherwise he’s going to trip on his way up the stage. He smiles so wide his face hurts and shakes a few hands before getting handed a black and gold jersey with 15 printed across the back. Jake isn’t sure if he’d want it any other way.

He hits rewind. Not to change things, but to experience it twice.

 

 

There’s a goldfinch chirping on his windowsill in the morning.

Jake’s head is full of muck and fragmented memories of staying up late with beer the guys managed to pick up with some shitty fake. And the fucking “team building” they’d done, which was really just the lamest game of truth or dare he’s ever participated in. And yeah, he definitely reversed things a couple times just to get a kick out of Barzy hammered and perfectly willing to chug tabasco sauce off a dare. So there’s that.

He doesn’t register the bird’s chirping as much more than a low buzz for a second, but then he pries his eyes open and he’s looking square at it—yellow and black. Two colours that gave him the rest of his life.

He crouches down next to the window and watches the bird tilt its head at him, and there’s a certain sense of distant nostalgia he feels when he sees it. 

His alarm clock rings behind him and the bird takes off.

 

 

Technically speaking, Jake isn’t really a Boston Bruin yet. Not for a while, because he’s out there perfecting his game in the A. He’s still too small, still too slow, still needs to work at his skating until all the keys to improving his skill are ingrained into his head.

But hey, he _is_ a Providence Bruin, so that should count for something at least. He gets friendly with his teammates pretty quick, flashing smiles at them and learning their likes before sending himself back a few minutes so he can try the conversation again while keeping those same things in mind. 

It’s not as if the guys don’t like him for him, it’s just that this way Jake gets a free pass towards earning their friendship. So that they’re more than just a bunch of guys playing hockey together. He’s done it before, this isn’t anything new. Keeping the conversation moving is easier when you’ve met someone for the first time twice.

Then the end of his season in the A rolls around. Training camp is full of just as much jittery excited energy as last year, and once summer dips into autumn, preseason games crop up. 

It’s funny to think about, that these games means so little to some, and so much to others—like Jake for example, who’s about to lose his mind over the aspect of trying to perform well in the eyes of those that make it count. The people that hold his ticket to making the Show. They control _him_.

He’s never felt this powerless in forever, because even if he can change the past, his future is in the hands of the team staff. He can change just about anything, but his hockey is his own, and that’s how it’s always been.

Jake thinks back to high school, to when he’d tried to change the outcome of a shaky first period, and decides the only way to avoid a bad period is to keep it from happening right off the bat. 

He’s got his hopes high, and he’s feeling good—excited to make this first game his own, to shape his career beneath good light. He wants this. And sure, Jake wants a lot of things, but this might just top the list.

His morning goes like this: he hits snooze, and rewinds about as far as he can to avoid having to rush through breakfast. He FaceTimes his sister to tell her he’s going to lose his shit over wearing the Bruins uniform for real, and nearly falls down the stairs while gushing about the game. The drive to the arena is pleasant, and the rest of the guys are just about as psyched out as he is. 

They get on the ice and—he trips over McAvoy’s stick. 

Jake’s played a solid four games with him, and they’ve talked enough that they know each other on a first name basis, they’ve even got each others’ numbers. But this is _big_. He falls and lands on his wrist awkwardly enough that when he tries to get up there’s a sharp stab of pain right where it shouldn’t be, weaving around his radius and squeezing. 

He hisses and holds it close, and Charlie’s eyes are blown wide, enough that Jake feels guilty for _getting hurt_. 

“Holy fuck, man, are you okay? God, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—“ He kneels down next to Jake and makes a face like he’s trying to read his wrist like a play. And Jake knows full well who this kid is, he knows he can play hockey, and having all of that focus trained on him feels so much more than overwhelming.

Jake’s rolls his wrist and, “Oh,” he says, because it’s smarting something awful and he isn’t sure if this is going to work. Especially not with Charlie still looking anxious. 

He thinks back to a minute ago, it should be enough that he doesn’t end up tired, and breathes.

Jake hits rewind.

He ends up coasting to a stop next to Charlie, just barely avoiding his stick, and he can see the rush of panic that flashes over his face. “Holy shit, you could’ve fallen right over this thing. Watch yourself, man,” Charlie says. He doesn’t sound impressed. 

Jake tries laughing it off, and absentmindedly brings his fingers to his wrist. “I mean, if something did happen the ice is, like, right there.” He gestures lower and Charlie looks like he’s trying his hardest not to roll his eyes, but he’s smiling. It probably shouldn’t feel as relieving as it does. Jake isn’t sure why, but he swears there’s a missing weight on his shoulders. It’s still nice, to feel light on his feet for once. 

“Gonna be pretty hard to reach the ice from the press box if you ask me,” Charlie says. “Plus, what’re we gonna do without our star sniper?”

Jake’s grinning before he realizes it, and taps the blade of his stick against Charlie’s leg fondly. “Well, we’ve got you,” he says, and that gets him a bright smile. Charlie’s got a really sweet smile. 

“I’m more of an assist guy. Gonna get you a nice goal tonight, yeah?” Charlie nudges their shoulders together. “Trust me, the A’s going to want you back so bad once you make it.” 

“The A’s like a clingy ex?” Jake asks, because that’s exactly what Charlie’s making it out to be. 

“I mean.” He shrugs. “Probably. I wouldn’t know.” 

Jake scoffs. It’s exciting, getting to reconnect with Charlie again. Especially since he hasn’t seen him since camp. It’s been forever, but not long enough to forget. “Shut up, we’ve played together.” 

“Oh, right. I asked you to sign my stick, didn’t I?” Charlie’s got this smug look on his face, and Jake would probably consider it being super punchable if he played for the other team. “Always happy to meet a fan, huh?”

“Always,” Jake says back to him, playing along, and Charlie laughs. It’s bright and easy, and Jake spends the rest of their warm up trying to get it out of him again, cracking jokes back and forth and chirping the other team. It doesn’t take much to get him cracking up, and Jake likes that. 

It’s easy talking to Charlie. They don’t know each other very well, but Jake’s convinced it’s enough. 

 

 

He makes the team.

Jake’s not sure whether it was by a landslide or by a hair’s breadth, but it feels good knowing he’s got a secure spot. Knowing that he‘s made it.

Charlie does too, which was pretty clear right away. He’d seen it coming from a mile away, but Jake still doesn’t interrupt him when he’s going off on a excited tangent about how his life is just about complete. Jake finds it nearly impossible to listen to him talk about it without smiling every time Charlie brings up how great they’re going to be together. And that might be the one thing better than actually making the team, having someone to share the joy of it with. Having someone like Charlie especially, who turns everything into ten times of a bigger deal than it really is. 

Jake likes a lot of things about him. Hanging out and shooting the shit, playing COD and getting overly enthusiastic about every fucking no scope they manage, but sharing moments like this with him might just be the cherry on top. 

“Boston’s not gonna know what the fuck hit it,” Charlie says, holding his gaze with this warm sincerity that Jake can’t help but melt into. It feels like a promise.

“Yeah,” he says, and there he goes smiling without his own permission again. “Don’t get injured on me,” Jake says, trying to keep his tone fake stern. It almost sounds like a bad imitation of his dad when he’s lecturing him about plays. 

“Fine,” Charlie says, and holds out his pinky. “Don’t get traded to Dallas.” 

Jake rolls his eyes, but hopes this means he’s here to stay anyways.

 

 

They both score their first NHL goals one after the other and Jake could _cry_ with how happy he is. He’s got his dad in the stands, they take the W, and everything goes his way without him having to restart.

They’re both ecstatic in the locker room, yelling at each other from across the floor about how fucking dirty those goals were, and the vets give them these knowing looks. Jake isn’t sure if he’s ever felt more at home, if a team has ever felt more _his_ and it’s all so right. It’s good, if he’s ever wanted anything, it’s this.

“Netflix and all the pizza you can eat at my place,” Charlie tells him, and nothing has ever sounded more inviting to Jake in his life. 

“Yeah? Pizza’ll definitely be great for the season, throw some ice cream in there, too,” he says anyways, keeping his voice light. Charlie claps his shoulder as they walk down to the player parking. 

“Are you really declining pizza or are you just trying to be a prick?” Charlie asks him, his smile just as soft as it always is. He needs to be careful with that thing, Jake could literally forget how to breathe one of these days.

“Why not both,” he offers, and follows him to his car.

Jake thinks he sees a flash of colour in the sky, a stroke of black and yellow contrasting against the late evening purples, and it’s odd. Odd and unlikely, so he ignores it as a passing thought.

When he sees the golden feather lying on the asphalt by his feet, his pulse jumps into his throat.

 

 

Jake’s running on nothing but impulse when the clock strikes midnight on New Year’s.

He kisses Anders because he’s the closest thing to him, and just about every inch of him is greedy, pleading to be fed, and craving the need to be wanted—if even for a moment’s notice. To get rid of the feelings swirling in the pit of his stomach, feelings he doesn't know what to make of.

Anders kisses back, and Jake doesn’t even think about it, just holds him close seconds after the ball drops, after he's clung to him well into 2018. He’s not letting his brain work this out, just keeping himself grounded enough that this doesn’t drift into anything more than a kiss. Especially with a few of the other guys around. It’s something light and easy, and Jake can pretend he’s okay for the time being, while Anders is biting into his bottom lip. 

It’s like that for longer than it should be. Jake feels like he‘s on top of the world until he staggers back, nearly tripping over himself. Anders blinks at him, a clutter of emotions across his face, and opens his mouth to say something. Jake isn’t sure if he wants to hear it. 

He decides to try this again. Because he can’t do that—can’t take his neediness out on just anyone. 

He takes a shot of something cold and bitter when the ball drops this time around, letting his mind go hazy and watching Charlie clink bottles with Brandon while they cheer about the New Year. 

It makes him feel sick, when he leans back on the couch and replays what could’ve been in his head. He wonders what would’ve happened if he kissed Charlie, too, and doesn’t. 

 

 

It hits him like a truck, when Jake realizes he’s in love with Charlie. When he accepts it.

Like, they’re friends. Really close friends, enough that they’ll hang out outside of team outings, and practices, and shit. And it’s really nice in the way that it is, having a friend that isn’t just along for the ride or because they’re being forced together as two of the rookies. 

They’re friends, and that’s _real_ , and Jake just—he likes thinking about that. He likes being with Charlie, carefully cuddled up into his side while they watch whatever show they’ve got rolling on the TV. He likes seeing him happy, likes the way he laughs or the special smile Jake always manages to pull from him. It’s everything to him, it’s so, so much.

And Jake—he loves him. 

He thinks about saying it a lot, and usually settles on dropping that like a hot plate. Because even if he can make a move on him and rewind, shit like that takes the courage Jake just isn’t sure he’s going to be able to muster up. That’s just how things go, it’s how it’s always been. 

He can’t do anything about it. This stuff works in its own ways, and Jake isn’t sure how to feel about it. 

 

 

Hockey’s a dangerous sport. It doesn’t take a genius to connect the dots on that one. Jake’s been playing for years and years, he knows full fucking well that this isn’t safe in the slightest. He’s had his fair share of concussions, broken bones, and sprains, but this— _fuck_. This is exhausting. 

He isn’t sure what it means, when he gets tattooed to the fucking boards every other game, hitting the ice feeling dizzy and so, so out of place. He sprains something, or hurts his shoulder, or ends up with a bad cut. 

And he’ll rewind, and rewind, and rewind. 

Jake’s small, is the thing. He‘s small and he plays recklessly the first few games in. He skates circles around the big guys and acts surprised when he gets rattled as a result. Because he keeps getting compared to his father—the fighter, and he tries to do something about it, but he’s never going to be him.

He’s still got his built in undo button and something about being able to use that to jump back short bursts of time is too much power for him, maybe. To avoid injuries and spin out of checks, those extra seconds he shaves off meaning virtually nothing until he starts using them more than a few times a game. He’s smart enough to keep from doing that, to know just where his breaking point comes into play.

Jake can’t avoid all his injuries, he can dodge most of them like it’s second nature, because, well, it‘s just that at this point. If he’s got the energy, if his world isn’t hazy and breaking under his feet, he’ll have the energy to send himself back.

And that’s him. He’s been doing it for long enough that he knows what he’s doing, how to protect himself, but then—

It‘s a blur for the most part. There’s a sound of awe from the crowd, and Jake’s processing everything too slowly to put together the pieces. To keep up to the rush on the ice, the smudges of gold, and blue, and white, and the way Charlie hits the ice with a crash. 

Gallagher’s stick, Charlie’s skate, then his knee, and the look of fucking agony across his face.

Jake thinks back to their first preseason warm up together and cringes.

Charlie skates back to the bench with a set in his shoulders and a frown twisting his lips. 

Jake nearly reverses, but he asks him, “You okay?” 

And Charlie breathes. In. Out. It’s shaky, irregular, but he puts on a small smile—even if it betrays his eyes. “It’s nothing,” he says, and presses their shoulders together. Jake sucks in his bottom lip and nods his head stiffly.

It isn’t nothing, comes the news later on. 

It’s something—it’s missing four weeks worth of games and being there for playoffs if he’s lucky. It’s Jake feeling like he’s responsible for this, like he could’ve done something to stop this. And he spends enough time with Charlie that he learns how to make pancakes without burning them, or how to entertain Charlie when the guy can barely walk. 

It’s Jake knowing he could’ve done something about this and feeling bad about it every second he sees Charlie in pain.

And maybe the worst part is that Charlie sees it in his eyes because he says, “You look awful,” as casually as possible. There’s even ache injected deep into his voice, like he’s trying to pretend an MCL sprain of all things isn’t going to hurt him. It is. It definitely is. 

“I’m really just worried about you,” Jake blurts, and immediately regrets it because it’s the softest shit he’s ever said to Charlie. He’s probably not going to live it down for the rest of his life

He doesn’t give himself the chance to hear Charlie’s response, just hits rewind, puts on a small smile and tells him, “No big deal, just tired.”

“Maybe get some sleep once in a while,” Charlie says, because it probably occurs to him that if Jake’s spending 99% of his time looking after Charlie, he’s not getting very much shut-eye. Which is fine. Jake just wants to see Charlie better, he’ll give anything for it. 

“Don’t need it,” Jake insists, even if he feels like he might pass out at any second. “And you know we got a roady tomorrow, I wanna spend my time with you, dumbass.”

“I’m _fine_ ,” Charlie says, and gives him a thumbs up, as if that means anything. “I won’t fall and break my hip, you can trust me.“

“Yeah, but you could, like, fall and break your knee. Your other one.” Jake shrugs, because even if they’re mostly joking around, there’s still a flurry of different possibilities floating around in his brain. The multiple outcomes that could come from him flat out leaving. That’s not a risk he’s going to take.

Charlie scoffs. “I’m not that irresponsible,” he says, sounding amused. 

“Irresponsible, but not _that_ irresponsible,” Jake adds, and doesn’t try to dodge it when Charlie smacks his arm. 

“And here I was thinking we were friends.” 

“Right, only enemies cook breakfast for their enemies. I love the flawless logic,” Jake says.

Charlie hums and leans his head against Jake’s shoulder. “Good luck at your game, by the way.” 

“I’ll score you one,” Jake promises.

“Magic hands,” Charlie says solemnly. He looks up at him through his eyelashes and Jake feels the exact moment his heart stops.

 

 

There’s something about reversing the same conversation three times over that makes Jake’s head throb with this special kind of uneasiness that only comes when he’s overusing his power. Splitting the timeline into different paths with each change he makes turns reversing things into a fucking job, leaving him more and more drained with every shift. 

It’s just. This gets harder every time he tries it. 

“I like dudes,” he tells his sister, and Jordyn blinks at him for the thousandth time, maybe. 

“Wait,” she says, holding up her hand. She’s grainy over the FaceTime call, and her face is unevenly lit. Jake can’t help but think back to late nights they’d spend just bickering about random bullshit when all of his friends were either shitfaced or passed out cold after practice. 

“Yeah,” Jake says expectantly, and Jordyn blows out a small breath like she’s still processing it.

He still remembers the iteration of this conversation where Jordyn had somehow managed to coax his feelings for Charlie out of him. It was—different. It felt good to get that off his chest. And he thinks maybe he wants that as his final outcome, just so he has someone to talk to, but.

“Since when?” she asks. “And wasn’t there that one girl? Carmen?”

Jake gnaws on his bottom lip, staring down at his laptop’s keyboard. It’s dusty. “There was never any Carmen.”

“But you told Mom—“ She pauses, and it looks like she recognizes just what’s implied in that. 

Jordyn’s only mentioned Carmen four out of the ten times they’ve had this conversation, and Jake isn’t sure if he’s ever going to figure out what triggers it. But he hates having to explain this. “Kinda funny actually,” he says. “Um, it was Cameron, actually. I tried doing something smart with the name. But it was a swing and a miss when it came to finding a dude with a unisex name.” 

“Wow,” Jordyn says, and she laughs a little. “The pronouns, too. She’s a—he.” 

“Yeah,” Jake says again, and he kinda wants to end that there. He doesn’t know if trying to further this anymore is gonna be good for him. Especially if he doesn’t end up trying something with Charlie, or if Jordyn can’t keep that secret. 

So, he doesn’t say anything. 

Jordyn gives him this perfectly eloquent speech about how she’ll accept him no matter what, and Jake puts on a little smile and nods along to everything she says.

His mind roams anyways, and he thinks back to what Jordyn from the other timeline said, the one where she knows Jake is gone on Charlie.

_You like because, and you love despite._

It’s just like her to pull quotes she’s picked up off motivational posters and preach them to others, but Jake gave this one a chance. 

Because—you like someone because of all their qualities, and you love them despite their imperfections. And Jake. Fuck, he nearly likes Charlie as much as he loves him.

“Thanks,” he eventually tells Jordyn.

She’s just finished listing off a series of gay bars in the Boston area she pulled up on her phone, and Jake has to remind her he can’t actually drink legally yet, but it’s sweet. The thought that counts, right? 

Jordyn bids him goodnight and Jake falls back against his bed with a small breath. 

 

 

It happens again. 

The edges of his line of sight go blurry and his balance teeters precariously on the tip of falling off entirely. Jake has trouble focusing on anything but the way his instincts kick in almost fucking abnormally while he’s making his way down the parking lot with Charlie. 

It’s like—it takes everything out of him. When they pass through a line of vehicles and Charlie steps past without looking anywhere but at him, and Jake doesn’t even process it. He doesn’t process the honk from the trunk, or the burn of tires on asphalt. His hand shoots out to grab at Charlie, and when it meets nothing but air, Jake’s world shifts backwards just barely a few seconds.

That’s that.

It takes enough out of him that he fists his hand in Charlie’s shirt to keep from falling, and he desperately presses his hands to his head to stop the ache coiling in his temple. Charlie holds onto him immediately, a steady weight.

“Hey, _hey_ , Jake, what’s wrong?” His voice is calm, soothing, but Jake can always hear the underlying shiver of panic when it’s present. He doesn’t know what’s wrong, he can’t.

A truck zips past them a moment later. 

Jake feels like his lungs are contracting in on themselves, his pulse jumping into his throat and choking him until his breath won’t come out right.

“Oh my god,” he says, and puts his hands on either side of Charlie’s face like he can’t believe he’s still here. “The truck—“ He’s not sure what to say, how to word this without sounding crazy. “You could’ve gotten run the fuck over.” 

Jake’s mind is spinning out of control, and he doesn’t think he’s ever going to get over the thought of just how badly that could’ve gone. Even if he’d been just a second late, what would’ve happened. 

And. The thing is, Jake knows about the thousands of timelines branching off from each and every change he makes in his own path, every time he hits rewind, and really it only means that there’s a timeline somewhere out there where Jake doesn’t rewind. 

Where—where he lives a life without Charlie. 

He feels sick. He can barely stand on his own two feet, and that might just play a part in it.

“Jake, breathe, you look like you saw a ghost,” Charlie tells him, and he puts his hands on Jake’s shoulders. “I wasn’t anywhere near that truck, it’s _alright_.”

“Charlie,” he chokes out, and it nearly sounds like a sob. Jake feels like he could cry, if he wasn’t experiencing ten emotions at once, maybe. “You were right there when the truck came, you—I saw it happen.”

Charlie puckers his forehead, his brows pinched together, and Jake’s not sure where exactly he might’ve lost him. “That’s not it, okay? I’m right here. I’m _here_.” 

Part of Jake is thankful Charlie doesn’t immediately jump to him being fucked up on something, instead keeping him close and holding onto him like he knows Jake needs a minute to catch his breath. Although Charlie wouldn’t know _why_. And Jake’s never told anyone, but he wants to tell Charlie. He has to, this is too much. 

“No, I almost watched you get hit by that car, in—it was a different timeline. Some other world where I couldn’t save you,” Jake says, and he swears his words stutter as they roll off his tongue.

“You’re not making any sense,” Charlie admits, and his features are tightly woven. Worrying.

Jake drops his hand to scrub it over his face, trying to collect his thoughts, and Charlie backs off to give him space. “You need to trust me.”

“What?”

“Charlie, do you trust me?” 

Jake recognizes the sincerity on Charlie’s face before the nerves, and he’s far more aware of the squeeze he gets on his arm moments after. “Yeah, but. You’re freaking out, man. This is—I don’t get this.” 

“Charlie,” he says again, like it’s the only word he can get out, like his name’s been etched into the tip of his tongue. Jake puts his hand on Charlie’s, trying to centre himself so the world will stop shaking underneath him. “I can reverse time, fucking rewind it.” 

“What, like time travel?” Charlie squints at him, and Jake hates how unconvinced he looks. He’s so close but he feels distant, like if Jake tried to reach him he’d fade away. “That’s not a real thing.” 

“I’m serious,” Jake says, and he inwardly cringes at the desperate edge to his voice, so needy to get Charlie to understand. “When I was 16, I—I watched a bird die after it slammed into my window. That was the first time it happened, when time just _shifted_ and I had the chance to open my window to let it in. To save it.”

Charlie blinks at him, and Jake watches him turn the idea over in his head. “Maybe it wasn’t dead, maybe it just flew in.”

“I saw it _dead_ ,” he stresses. “That wasn’t the only time either, I almost saw you get crushed. Just now.” Jake’s stomach churns as the words tumble out of his mouth, leaving a bitter taste on his tongue. He doesn’t even want to think about the alternative outcome, let alone talk about it. 

“Jake,” Charlie says, his voice watery. 

“Here, wait, I’ll prove it,” Jake blurts, and racks his brain for ways to convince Charlie. 

“Prove it _how_?” 

“Tell me something only you would know.”

“What?”

“I can—I’ll reverse time and say it back to you. You won’t even remember telling me,” he explains, and he holds his breath, afraid of being rejected. “Anything. What you had for breakfast this morning, even.”

Charlie makes a considering face. “That’s too easy,” he says. “How about, uh, when I was 10 I stole an M&M brownie from a corner store—the Git ‘n’ Go.“ Jake makes a face at him. “It still haunts me.”

Jake keeps that in mind, trying not to laugh, and nods his head in one jerky motion. “Is that enough to make you believe me?“

“Yeah,” Charlie says. “Should be.” And he gives his arm another squeeze, warm and comforting, almost like telling him _I trust you_.

Jake smiles. He almost kisses him.

After the rewind, Charlie’s looking at him the same way he had been earlier. “Prove it _how_?” He says again, and Jake can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips.

“When you were 10, you stole a brownie from the Git ‘n’ Go,” he says. “One with M&M’s.” Jake studies the way Charlie’s expression hops between calm and panicked. 

“How did you—“

“You told me,” Jake explains. “You from a different timeline. I just had to reverse and here you are. Here I am. And I’m definitely turning you into the authorities.”

Charlie laughs, but it’s breathy, and he pushes a hand through his hair. “Holy shit. Jake, you’re fucking incredible. You’re _magic_.” 

“I don’t know if it’s magic but—you believe me?” He can’t help the spark of hope he feels flicker over him when Charlie nods slowly, lighting him up from the inside out. “You know you can’t tell anyone, right?”

Charlie mimes locking his lips and throwing away the key, and it cracks Jake up a little. “As long as you don’t tell anyone about me stealing a brownie.”

“I’ll consider it,” he jokes, and smiles and smiles.

 

 

“So, like, how does any of this even work,” Charlie asks him later, watching him from the passenger seat of his car. Jake still isn’t used to all of his attention trained on him at once, feeling fidgety as he tightens his grip on the steering wheel. 

“No idea,” he says dismissively, because he really isn’t sure. It’s been so long, and movies haven’t helped very much. “Ways, I guess.”

“Have you ever, like, met your past self?” 

Jake scoffs. “I’m pretty sure that‘s just destroying the space time continuum. Which I haven’t. Yet.” He taps his fingers against the wheel. “All I know is that this isn’t a toy. It’s dangerous.”

“What?” Charlie’s voice lilts the way it does whenever he’s worried, and when Jake glances at him his eyebrows are raised towards his hairline. “Jake, what the fuck do you mean it’s _dangerous_.”

“I mean,” he makes an expansive gesture with one of his hands, because he’s not sure if expanding on that is helping anyone. “Just nosebleeds and shit. Headaches. Dizziness.”

“Oh my god.”

Jake feels his face heat up at Charlie’s concern. It’s a lot, if he’s honest. “That’s only if I abuse it, I swear. I’m being safe.”

“You better be, fucker,” Charlie says, sounding lighter. He pauses. “Why haven’t you won the lottery yet?” 

“Can’t really do anything if I can only reverse, like, five minutes,” Jake explains. “It’s five minutes or suffer, pretty much.”

“Okay, well. Don’t suffer.” 

Jake laughs, and it escapes him mostly by slipping through his control. “That’s the plan.”

“This is crazy, y’know,” Charlie admits, and Jake can see a gleeful flash of teeth from the corner of his eye. “You’re gonna have to tell me everything. Right from the beginning.”

And Jake does, because it feels good to finally get to talk about this. They get to live this together, and that’s what matters.

 

 

Charlie coasts to a stop next to him during a practice, and Jake feels obligated to complain about the shavings of ice that hit his skates in a wave. He just doesn’t get a chance, because Charlie immediately asks, “Does anybody else know? About—the thing.”

Jake shakes his head at him slowly, trying his hardest to make sure nobody’s watching. Because, whether or not it’s obvious, he’s trying not to look suspicious. He has been for years now. “Just you.”

“Wow,” Charlie says, looking stunned. “None of the guys? What about your family?” There’s an edge of worry to his voice, and it settles something sincere into Jake’s expression. It’s instinctual, maybe.

“Nobody.” He shrugs. “So, like, don’t rat me out to the government, I guess? The FBI might kidnap me.”

“And experiment on you?” Charlie laughs, and Jake shoves him a little. Because, seriously, he can’t be too careful.

“Hey,” he starts, “DNA splicing and shit. It’s legit, I’d have to go into a protection program.”

“Protection from _who_?” Charlie asks, and he’s still grinning. There’s this light tinge of pink to his cheeks, and Jake swears he’s mirroring it. Maybe tenfold. 

“You, probably,” Jake says. “So don’t expose me to the feds, maybe? I’ll buy you coffee in return.” He wiggles his eyebrows, and Charlie scoffs. 

“That’s fair. I mean, not like I’d actually do it, but hey, coffee’s good.” 

And Jake’s thinking—spending time with Charlie in general would be good. He wonders if the feelings are mutual, this feeling of quiet hope stirring up in his stomach, and decides to keep it quiet.

 

 

Sometimes, it hurts how much Jake wants Charlie. Because he’ll love, and love, and remember he _can’t_ because they don’t have anything more than a friendship between them. They’re nothing but buddies, with the occasional lingering touch or risqué joke, and Jake just wishes it could be something more. But it never is. 

He’s sitting on the steps outside his condo when a goldfinch lands by his feet, craning its neck to look at him. It takes him a minute to realize the way it won’t stop staring, and another minute to realize that it’s the same goldfinch he’d seen so many other times. 

Honestly, Boston isn’t known for its variety in birds. There’s no other way it’s anything else. And he doesn’t understand _why_ it’s following him everywhere. Or even how. 

Jake reaches for it carefully, and feels a blossom of warmth in his stomach when it lands on his finger. He smiles, and watches the way it puffs out his chest, all pretty gold and black feathers. 

It means something. 

A car pulls up to the curb and with a flap of its wings, the goldfinch takes off in all its silent grace. The first thing Jake hears after that is the sound of Charlie chuckling. 

“You have a pet bird now?” He asks. And he walks over with the same confidence as the goldfinch, almost as if it carries his spirit. That makes Jake smile. 

“Nah,” he says. “Just got lucky. It didn’t wanna stay, clearly.”

“Aw.” Charlie frowns and sits down next to him. “I’ll stay,” he says innocently enough, and lets his hand brush over Jake’s. It’s barely a split second but it makes his skin light up with little jolts, and he can’t help the heat he feels in the tip of his ears.

“Oh—“

“You ready to head out?” Charlie asks, and—right. They were going to that new theatre that opened up. Jake completely forgot why he’d been waiting for him in the first place.

“Yeah.” He gets to his feet quickly. “You look good, by the way,” Jake hears himself say, and immediately hopes he’d just imagined it. 

He could take it back, but, “You too,” Charlie answers sweetly, and Jake chews on his bottom lip.

They’ll be fine. This is fine. 

 

 

Jake leaves the movie halfway because he’s gotta take a piss, and Charlie tags along since he’s insisting on grabbing more popcorn. Because a movie just isn’t a movie without snacks, apparently.

He meets Jake in the bathroom because he’s too slow, as it’s made obvious by Charlie’s incessant complaining, and Jake takes advantage of the empty room to splash water from the tap on Charlie after getting chirped for taking too long. 

He has to set his popcorn down to fight back, and Jake lets out an involuntary squeak when Charlie gets him right in the face with some water.

“Oh, fuck you,” he says, and shoves Charlie fondly. “I’m gonna get you back, you just won’t know when.” 

“You’re gonna cheat and use your fucking time powers,” Charlie answers. “No time shit. Just so we have a set of base rules.”

Jake tries giving him the stubbornest look he can muster, but he feels it falter when he gets a small smile in return.

“Fine, fine, not like you’d know anyway,” Jake teases him, and laughs when Charlie looks at him accusingly. “I’m _kidding_.”

“Better be.” Charlie rips out a paper towel and passes one to Jake before grabbing one for himself. His skin goes red and blotchy when he rubs at the water on his face, and it makes Jake smile. Red’s always looked good on him. 

“I literally cannot believe I let you choose the movie,” Jake mumbles eventually, it’s a thought he’s had at least fifteen times since they showed up. Because of course Charlie would choose something chock full of cheap jump scares and creepy little girls. What else. 

“What? Scared?” Charlie sounds like an eager child when he says it, like he’s waiting for Jake to admit something that cheesy is enough to get much of a scare out of him. 

It’s _is_ , but like—Charlie doesn’t need to know that.

“Ugh, no,” Jake insists. “I‘m terrified of your taste in movies though, not gonna lie.”

He glues his gaze to Charlie sitting up on the counter, and Jake hopes he’s imagining it when he feels himself take a step closer. “Maybe I just wanted a reason to cuddle with you,” Charlie admits casually, shrugging his shoulders. 

“What?” Jake watches Charlie’s tongue dart out to wet his lips. It’s stained red from their (definitely not nutritionist approved) slushies. He’s staring. 

“We could’ve seen a shitty romcom or something but like, where’s the fun in that,” Charlie says, and he’s wearing a shit-eating grin that makes Jake think he’s fucking with him. But then again, he knows Charlie well enough to convince himself that the smugness could just come with the— _flirting?_

“You know you could’ve just asked if you really wanted to cuddle,” Jake says. He’s trying for the same tone. Charlie’s got going for him, but he thinks he sounds nervous when he processes his own words. 

There’s a smile hanging loosely from his lips, and it makes Jake’s heart stutter. Okay, this is happening. Fuck. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Jake replies, and hopes he sounds at least slightly more confident now. He might have time on his side but just about everything else is going against him. 

“Alright,” Charlie says and Jake feels him tap the side of his leg with his foot. Jake has to tilt his chin up to look him in the eyes, which is suddenly a lot scarier when Charlie is towering over him from his spot on the counter. “And if I wanted, I dunno, a kiss?”

Jake feels a small smile split his face seemingly without his permission. He wonders if Charlie’s just as nervous as he is under that composed expression. “Is that—are you asking me for one?” 

“I could be.” 

He watches Charlie’s gaze drop down and meet his eyes again, like he’s daring him to bridge the gap between them, and Jake hopes this isn’t a dream.

For one, it doesn’t actually feel like one. Especially because Jake can feel the soft slide of Charlie’s lips so fucking vividly when he dips in, and it might just take his breath away. He’s wanted this for so long he nearly forgets to shut his eyes, too caught up in everything else. 

Charlie tastes like popcorn and sugar, which isn’t a great combination, but Jake can’t help but chase after it. Trying to deepen the kiss, and he desperately leans into the hand Charlie settles on his chest, before it travels up to his hair. Jake doesn’t even care if he messes it up a little, just wants to be as close to Charlie as he can get. He doesn’t think he could get enough of him if he tried. 

And then—he hears the creak of the door opening and Jake tears away from Charlie quick enough that he’s convinced one more wrong step could’ve sent him falling to his face. 

“And, uh, like I was saying,” Charlie says breathlessly, like they’re picking up a conversation. The person who came in through the door turns the corner and doesn’t give either of them a second glance, making his way past them. “The Sox are going all the way this year. For sure.” 

Jake blinks at him, almost like _that’s really the best you could come up with?_ But he spares him of the chirps and laughs instead, trying not to stare at Charlie’s lips—which were tinted red before they’d started kissing but it’s still a lot to see them damp and shiny. 

“Right,” Jake says. “We should probably head back.”

“Probably,” Charlie says, sounding amused, and he grabs his popcorn.

When they get back to their seats, Charlie throws his arm over Jake’s shoulders and Jake leans against him. It’s all he needs.


End file.
